


trying out a new sound

by lettertotheworld



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, after/around s5, emma's a mess someone help her, hey this has no plot that's cool right, they kiss a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertotheworld/pseuds/lettertotheworld
Summary: regina finally tells emma that she loves her, and it takes emma, like, a week to say it back because of who she is as a person
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 51
Kudos: 339





	trying out a new sound

**Author's Note:**

> drinking game, take a shot every time regina tells emma she loves her before emma actually says it back (spoiler it's 3 shots)  
> thank u jade for always letting me b ridiculous i love u :~)

_should we go into it_

_together / if i go into it_

_with you i will never come out_

margaret atwood, _hesitations outside the door_

Granny’s Diner has lost all the ambiance of a small-town restaurant. It’s been transformed into the perfect venue for a wedding reception: strings of golden fairy lights draped from the ceiling; elegant, white flowers as the centerpiece of every booth; even the tables in the middle of the room have been moved in order to create a makeshift dance floor.

It’s beautiful without sacrificing simplicity. Ruby and Dorothy have opted for a small wedding with friends and family, and Emma appreciates that. It’s grueling enough to be surrounded by so much talk of true love and happy endings. She can’t imagine how exhausting an even larger crowd would be. Her dress is tight, and her heeled shoes are pinching her feet, but at least the majority of her discomfort is physical rather than social.

Besides, Regina picked this dress out for her because it matches Regina’s shoes, and color-coordinating is apparently important for them tonight. Because apparently this is a date. Or, Emma thinks it is. It’s all still slightly unclear, but Regina had explicitly used the word “date” when she’d asked Emma to come with her tonight, and Emma hadn’t had the good sense to ask her to specify. The point is, Emma thinks she can suffer through a bit of wardrobe trouble if it means she’s on a maybe-kind of-sort of-date with Regina.

And as far as these things go, a wedding is one hell of a first date. Emma’s convinced she could have handled dinner and a movie far better than this. The thing is, watching two people who are so in love that they share it and celebrate it with the ones they care about dredges up enough emotions without the added heartache of having Regina by her side. The thing is, she has a lot of feelings for Regina and they’ve been screaming beneath the surface all night.

Small moments, like when Regina’s hand had brushed the small of Emma’s back as she’d guided her to their seats at the ceremony. Like when Regina had gently taken Emma’s hand in her own during Ruby and Dorothy’s vows. Even now, as she’s staring at Regina from across the room, and she doesn’t realize it until Regina meets her gaze. She’s talking to Snow, and as Snow turns her head to take a sip of her champagne, Regina’s mouth hangs open in a silent groan and she rolls her eyes. It makes Emma smile, probably a soft, dopey thing, but she can’t help it. There are a lot of soft, dopey things in her heart right now.

Snow’s attention is back on Regina and they’re talking again, but Regina’s eyes keep flickering over to Emma. Emma almost doesn’t notice Henry walking up next to her.

“Hey, kid,” she says, and there’s music and conversations and commotion happening, but not so much that it drowns out their voices.

“Hey,” he says, all too knowingly. He glances between the two of them; over at Regina, then back at her, and he’s got this grin on his face that makes Emma shift uncomfortably on her feet. “You seem like you’re having a great time staring at my mom.”

There it is, the well-intentioned prying, and she expects this from her mother, but from her own son? Whatever. Experience has taught her to fight fire with fire.

“I am, actually,” she tells him. His nose crinkles—which amuses her to no end—but his grin doesn’t fade.

“Gross.” Only, he doesn’t sound too disgusted. He sounds strangely happy. Emma thinks of how he’s so much older now, so much more grown up, and it’s almost not fair, the way he can see right through her these days. “You know, instead of just looking at each other all night, you could be dancing with her.”

Emma can’t stop the short huff of laughter that shoots up from her lungs.

“She doesn’t want to dance with me.”

Henry looks at her like she hasn’t caught onto something yet, and it would maybe be annoying if she didn’t love him so much.

“It’s a wedding,” he says, “and she asked you to be her date.”

She blinks at him.

“So?”

“So, trust me.”

He gives her a nudge forward, and, okay, not only is he older now, but he’s stronger; strong enough to actually cause her to lose her balance and teeter for a second. She levels him with a glare that is not really a glare but more of a look of disbelief, and he just lifts his brows expectantly. Which is exactly what Regina does, and sometimes the two of them are entirely too similar, Emma thinks.

Really, she doesn’t have a choice but to cross the room and make her way over to Regina. Who, bless her, is still tolerating an inebriated Snow as best she can, and Regina looks immediately relieved by Emma’s presence.

“Uh, hey, I think David’s looking for you,” she tells her mother, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh,” Snow says, glancing at Emma, and she must catch something of a hint from Emma’s expression because her eyes widen a bit and she nods. “I’ll…leave you two. Alone.” When she goes to stand up from her barstool, she wobbles slightly on her feet, and Emma steadies her as Snow murmurs an “excuse me” before wandering off.

“I was wondering when you were going to save me,” Regina says, but it’s warm rather than accusatory. “I hope you know the only reason I asked you to come with me tonight was to act as my personal buffer between your mother and myself.”

“And I failed,” Emma says, and Regina just looks endeared.

“And you failed.”

“Guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

Emma holds her hand out to Regina and offers what she hopes is a confident smile but what is probably just a nervous tilt of her mouth. Regina takes it, hesitantly, and seems almost embarrassed, eyes flitting across the room and landing anywhere but on Emma.

“I don’t dance,” Regina tells her, but she’s rising to her feet regardless, following Emma to the center of the floor.

“Neither do I,” Emma says, lightly squeezing Regina’s hand. It must serve as some sort of comfort to Regina because she brings her other hand to the middle of Emma’s back, and Emma lets hers fall to Regina’s waist as they gently start to sway. Emma feels a laugh bubble up in her throat. “It’s weird, right?”

“It’s okay.” Regina’s eyes are shining with mirth, and she seems just as amused. “But why do I get the sense that this wasn’t your idea?”

“Because it wasn’t,” Emma says. She steps closer, pulls Regina against her so she doesn’t have to look into Regina’s eyes anymore because it’s a little overwhelming, their faces so close. It feels safer like this, having the side of her head lulling against Regina’s. “Your son put me up to this.”

“Oh, he’s my son now?”

“Only when he’s being a pain in the ass.”

Regina swats Emma’s shoulder blade, a playful gesture of disapproval for saying anything against the light of her life, and Emma feels her heart swell at the unwavering love Regina has for Henry.

“You know, he told me I was his favorite,” Regina says, and Emma laughs fully this time into Regina’s shoulder.

“I don’t even have to see your face to know you’re lying.”

“Oh, please.” Emma can practically hear the smile in Regina’s voice. “You’re not _that_ good.”

“I am when it’s you,” she tells Regina, and it hits a little too close to home, so she quickly redirects. “At least give me a challenge.”

Regina’s quiet for a moment as they sway to the soft music, and Emma thinks she’s grown bored of the teasing, thinks Regina will strike up talk of something else soon, so she just rests her head against Regina and breathes, savoring the calm. The warmth of Regina’s body. The light, floral scent of her hair. The way their hands fit, fingers laced so perfectly together.

“Well,” Regina finally says, drawing a deep breath like she is preparing for something, and it almost startles Emma, how suddenly soft her voice is, “I suppose a challenge…would be that I love you.”

Emma halts their swaying almost instantly, her body going rigid, and she feels her chest tighten, heart clenching as the music plays on in the background. She lifts her head from Regina’s shoulder. It’s as if her bones are suddenly made of lead, weighing her down so heavily until it is difficult just to pull back and look at Regina. The intensity in her eyes threatens to melt Emma where she stands, Regina’s expression a strange mixture of panic and sincerity. Emma watches her and she watches Emma right back, and how does Regina do this so easily? How does she scatter out pieces of her heart without worrying if they will come back to her?

She’s not lying. Emma asked for a challenge and Regina gave it to her and _she’s not lying_.

The sound of shattering glass infringes on their moment, Emma jolting as all eyes land on Ruby, who has accidentally knocked over a flute of champagne, complaining about how it’s “too hard to move in this damn dress.” And the rest of the guests carry on, the noise of the reception picking back up, but the space left between herself and Regina remains silent. When Emma draws her gaze back to Regina, Regina is already looking at her.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Emma asks, because…well, because they have to _talk_ , right? Something that Emma isn’t willing to do in the middle of Granny’s during a wedding reception.

“Where are we going?” Regina is so open, so freely vulnerable even after disclosing such a precious feeling.

Emma swallows, shakes her head. She’s not good at this.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Anywhere.”

As soon as Regina nods, Emma leads Regina out of the diner; still hand-in-hand, even if Emma’s fingers have started to tremble.

The loft is where they end up simply because it is the closest place within walking distance from Granny’s. They’re both quiet until they make it inside, and if Emma struggles to turn the key over in the lock, then Regina politely ignores it.

“Um,” Emma says, unsure of where to even begin now that they’re alone, and she fumbles to cut on the lamp in the corner of the room, illuminating them in a dim glow that makes Regina look more unbearably beautiful. The way Regina’s hair falls elegantly over one shoulder and her backless, red dress and her high heels—the ones that match Emma’s dress, and _god_ , is this even still a halfway-first date? Do people say “I love you” on halfway-first dates?—it’s all enough to make Emma’s breath get lost in her lungs. “I think Snow has some wine.”

It’s all she can think to say. Because how could a bit of alcohol possibly make this worse, right? She mentally kicks herself but goes to fetch the bottle of white from atop the fridge anyway. She finds two glasses in a cupboard and fills each of them halfway; like their date. Or, their not-date.

Regina follows Emma into the kitchen nook and accepts the glass that Emma passes to her. She doesn’t drink it, though. She just watches Emma sip her own wine with a small frown pinching her face.

“I’m sorry,” Regina says, and Emma nearly chokes on her drink, “if I made you uncomfortable.”

_What?_

The first thing Regina has said to her since they left the reception is an _apology_. Which is ridiculous, because why does she have any reason to be sorry? For having feelings that are very much mutual? For saying what Emma has been too cowardly to say?

It occurs to Emma then, as she notices the way Regina is nervously tapping her thumb against the stem of her wine glass, that maybe this _isn’t_ easy for Regina. Maybe she is just as clumsy as Emma, only far less surface-level about it. Emma knows that when Regina loves, she loves entirely, and along with that must come a slew of self-doubt. Because Regina wonders if she’s made Emma uncomfortable. Regina wonders if she has been too much.

A portion of the blame probably belongs to Emma due to the fact that she hadn’t verbally reciprocated anything. But she can’t say those words right now, can’t make them leave her throat, so Regina is just going to have to trust her for the time being.

“You didn’t,” Emma assures her, voice coming out so soft that she almost doesn’t recognize it as her own.

“Being there, it…made me want to tell you,” Regina says, which wouldn’t make Emma nearly as anxious as what it does if they were still _at_ the wedding. But they’re not. They’re standing in her parents’ kitchen where the magnetism of happy endings is significantly less magnetic. Where Regina could change her mind and decide that her admission had been fueled by whatever magic was in the air; although, Emma would argue that there is still _something_ in the air, lingering.

“What about now?” Emma asks.

Regina’s frown deepens and she tilts her head like she is trying to physically work out Emma’s question, and Emma can hear the rush of her own pulse in her ears.

“You think it wasn’t genuine?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just…asking.”

Regina releases her hold on her untouched glass of wine to round the counter, slowly and carefully moving closer to Emma as if she is a panicked animal in a trap. Regina gets as close to Emma as what she was when they were dancing, Emma’s back coming into contact with the edge of the counter as she lets Regina into her space.

“I love you,” Regina says quietly, and Emma watches her say it this time, watches the way her lips move around the words and how they match the emotion in her eyes.

For the second time tonight and with the same phrase, Regina has rendered her speechless, has turned her into nothing but a heartbeat connected to a pair of lungs, and she’s rarely allowed anyone to have this much power over her, but how easily Regina holds that power in her hands. How delicately.

“You should probably stop saying that,” Emma breathes, her hand reaching out for Regina’s, their fingers brushing.

“Why?”

Regina’s voice is _soft_ , gentle, and they’re so close, too close—

“Because,” she says, “it’s not…fair.”

It’s not fair because… _because_. It makes her want Regina in ways that she shouldn’t. Because Emma hasn’t said it back. Because Emma brought them here to _talk_ like responsible adults, but Regina keeps saying those words, and now Emma’s probably going to kiss her.

The thought knocks into the space between her ribs, has her holding her breath as she decides with certainty that, _yes_ , that’s what she’s going to do, and when Regina’s eyes flicker down to Emma’s lips, it’s all she needs. Regina is already meeting her halfway, already resting her palm against Emma’s cheek, and she hopes Regina doesn’t think she brought them here just for this, just for Emma to be kissing her. But Emma is. Emma’s kissing her, and it happens so naturally that she wonders how long they could have been doing this.

But that’s not actually something she really wants to think about because it hurts a little too much, presses on her racing heart like the tip of a blade.

Regina sighs into her mouth, drawing Emma back to the here and now instead of letting her get lost in the could-have-beens. Her hands tighten at Regina’s hips, and she sucks Regina’s bottom lip before taking it between her teeth and gently tugging as she pulls away. She rests her forehead against Regina’s because _god_ , can she just think or _breathe_ for a minute—

In the overwhelming silence of the loft, Regina lets out a ragged, little laugh that makes Emma shiver, makes her stomach twist with wonder and want. And Emma…doesn’t care anymore. She pulls Regina back to her by the waist, turns them so that Regina is the one being crowded against the counter until their bodies are flush, until she feels the warm, solid weight of Regina’s form against her own. When her lips find Regina’s again, it’s with a heavier desperation, and having Regina’s hands at her neck, inching higher, feeling Regina’s fingers at the base of her scalp then tangled in her hair, it all makes Emma _want_ so fiercely.

Regina’s mouth opens beneath hers with a quiet sigh, and Emma traces Regina’s lips with her tongue, dips her tongue into Regina’s mouth, and it brushes over Regina’s own, and it’s _good_. It’s _so good_ , except they are definitely fully making out in her parents’ kitchen, which is…less good. Emma wishes they were anywhere else, but when Regina’s fingers flex against her scalp and tug lightly on her hair, Emma doesn’t wish for anything but more of this.

Desire coils low in her stomach at the noise Regina makes when Emma pulls her hips more firmly against her own; a growl, a moan, Emma doesn’t know, but she knows she wants to hear it again. Only, Regina tears her lips away from Emma’s to place a kiss on her cheek, her jaw, the column of her throat, and all Emma can do is blissfully tilt her head as Regina runs her tongue over Emma’s pulse, and maybe the next soft noise spills from her own lips.

Regina’s lips leave hot, open-mouthed kisses wherever they land until Regina latches on and sucks, and _god,_ Emma’s hips are rolling forward and pushing against Regina’s, her hands dropping to the hem of Regina’s dress to hike it up to her thighs. She leaves one at Regina’s thigh, brings the other hand up to slide her fingers into Regina’s hair and draw Regina’s lips back to hers, messy and urgent.

It’s tentative, when Emma slides a thigh between Regina’s legs, when Regina grinds against her, once, slowly. Regina breathes a moan into Emma’s mouth, breaks their kiss, chest heaving as she takes Emma’s face in her hands. There is a brief moment where they simply watch each other as they share the same breath, and Emma sees that Regina’s lipstick has been all but smudged off, her lips now pink and kiss-swollen.

_Because of me_ , Emma thinks, and it sends a wave of heat to her gut.

She can’t catch her breath, can’t do anything that isn’t gripping Regina’s thigh as Regina looks at her with a hooded gaze, and the word _vulnerable_ plucks at Emma’s heartstrings.

Reality strikes like lightning, because it never fails, _never_ , and someone is working the lock on the other side of the door, turning a key, and Emma’s heart drops to her stomach as she quickly attempts to tame her undoubtably messy hair and move away from Regina. Regina is fixing her dress, smoothing it out as the door opens to reveal…pretty much her entire family.

Great.

It’s her own fault for bringing Regina here in the first place. But if she had known what was going to happen, then she would have chosen somewhere else. Somewhere that her father wouldn’t be looking at her with this incredibly confused frown. Somewhere that her (apparently very drunk) mother wouldn’t be clinging to his arm. Snow’s smiling like she could cry, and Henry…looks mildly uncomfortable, and Emma hopes to god that it’s not obvious, hopes that her son can’t tell she’s been—that they’ve been—

“What are you two…”

Snow interrupts David’s question, but he still continues to glance between herself and Regina. Like if he stares a little harder, he can figure it out. Snow has, evidently, already figured it out.

“Aww, David, look at them,” she bursts, and Emma realizes then, at the same time Regina does, that they still have hold of each other’s hand. Regina yanks hers away like she’s been burned.

Emma’s never taken prom photos before, but she imagines it must feel a lot like this. The embarrassment, the gushing, the knowing looks. She’s surprised that Regina hasn’t used her magic to teleport herself the hell out of here. If Emma could speak or think or do anything right now, maybe she would give it a try herself.

While David seems like he still may not know exactly what’s going on, he does pick up on the fact that there is _something_ and that Snow has created an awkwardness in the room.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbles, and he actually sounds apologetic. He guides Snow past them, past the kitchen, and into their room, tucked away in the corner, then says over his shoulder, “She really liked the champagne.”

“Henry, we should go,” Regina says, to their _son,_ who, _god_ , is still just standing by the doorway with a smile on his face like he _knows_. “I can hardly tolerate Snow when she’s sober.”

“That’s not true,” Snow singsongs as David tucks her into bed, and her eyes are already closed. Emma’s never seen her mom this drunk before, and if the circumstances were any different, maybe she would find it hysterical. “I’m your best friend.”

Regina blinks once, and Emma watches her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. She wonders if Regina is just as humiliated as she is. For some reason, the possibility of that is comforting.

“We should go,” she says again to Henry, and she starts to cross the room.

But not before she turns back to Emma. Not before she places a gentle hand on her arm and offers her a warm, timid smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Regina promises, and Emma thinks she’s probably the one whose face is red now, her stomach twisting and flipping and turning. She still hasn’t said anything, this whole time. Like she’s experiencing all of this outside of her own body. Like if she so much as opens her mouth, everything she’s ever felt will leave her when all she wants to do is just _hold on_ , to all of it—

“Okay,” she says quietly, pathetically, and she clears her throat when her voice comes out too scratchy.

She feels Regina leave her space, feels the loss of her and watches Regina leave the loft with an amused Henry trailing after her, and Emma probably needs to talk to him about boundaries because she’s pretty sure he winks at her on his way out.

Emma is not usually one for dramatics, but she really does believe today has been one of the best days of her life. Knowing that she has a reserved place in Regina’s wonderful, beautiful mess of a heart—having confirmation that Regina loves her in a way that _matters_ , has always mattered—kept her mood lifted all day. She doesn’t even want to go home, doesn’t feel like she has to forcibly surround herself with people just to feel less alone anymore. She’s alone right now, sitting on the hood of her car outside of the station after her shift, tossing an orange up in the air like a baseball, over and over, and she’s _happy_.

The small realization startles her. The word is so foreign to her, and it shouldn’t be because she’s the Savior. Happy endings are sort of in her job description. But they’ve always been for everyone else. Never for her. Never for Regina, the two of them, together.

“I tend to prefer apples.”

Emma’s heart lurches in her chest and she blinks. She didn’t think seeing Regina the day after…well, last night, would be anything but weird. Except, it’s not, because Regina is making a joke, and Emma can feel herself smiling, and maybe they can do this.

The click of heels on concrete as Regina approaches, the crossing of Regina’s arms as she attempts to stave off the spring breeze in the night air, it all feels so much like freedom now, and then Regina does something wonderful. Regina joins her, situating herself on the hood of the Bug right beside Emma, their shoulders and thighs now touching. It reminds Emma of last night, of how she knows now what Regina’s thighs feel like under the weight of her hands.

“Who says I’m sharing?” Emma asks, turning the orange over in her palm, pressing her thumb into it so she doesn’t do something stupid like reach out for Regina. She wants to ask how Regina found her, how Regina knew she was here, but they’ve always had internal sensors for these things, and maybe they know each other a little too well.

“Well, considering you’ve been ignoring my texts all day, I think I deserve compensation.”

Emma winces, feels a bit of light remorse sting in her gut.

“Sorry,” she says.

“You didn’t get scared, did you?” Regina asks, and she sounds almost shy, almost nervous to ask. Because when Emma gets scared, she runs. They know this.

“No,” she says. It feels incredible; telling the truth, being unafraid, and she _can’t stop smiling_. “I thought about you a lot.”

“I wouldn’t have minded a simple message to let me know you were thinking of me.”

The teasing lilt of Regina’s voice lets Emma know that she’s not upset. That she’s being patient, and the thought of that is enough to make Emma’s softer emotions flare. She can’t remember the last time someone was patient with her.

“Sorry,” Emma says again. “I know. Give me some time to get good at this.”

By this, she means communication. By this, she means vulnerability. Intimacy. Regina seems to understand without needing Emma to elaborate.

“Then share your snack with me,” Regina says, nodding at the orange resting in Emma’s palm. “Since we’re asking for things.”

“You’re a bully,” Emma tells her fondly as she digs her thumb into the skin and starts peeling. Regina nudges her in the side with her elbow, and the gesture elicits a small breath of laughter from Emma.

Emma moves over and opens up space between them to drop the discarded orange peels onto the hood of her car, and she must be doing it too carelessly because Regina quickly gathers them into a neat pile.

“Don’t waste these,” Regina says. “They’re good for potions.”

Something suddenly floods her whole body, and it’s not the first time she’s felt this around Regina, but it’s the first time she’s ever fully allowed herself to recognize it as love. She doesn’t know why it’s this moment, Regina saving her orange peels to use for magic, that disarms her so completely. But it is. It does.

Her fingertips feel numb as she passes an orange slice to Regina. As she watches Regina take a bite. As the streetlights catch and shine against the sweet sheen on her lips. Regina notices her staring and meets Emma’s gaze, soft and warm and lovely. Regina swallows the bite of orange. Emma’s eyes follow the movement of her throat.

“What?” Regina wonders.

Emma doesn’t know, and saying anything right now seems wrong anyway. There are three words she wishes she could say, but they get stuck to her tongue. She just wants to share this moment with Regina like they’re sharing this orange. Like they share a son and the occasional dance at a wedding. Like they shared a kiss last night that turned Emma’s whole world right-side up. She just wants to share this life with Regina.

When Emma leans in and kisses her, Regina tastes like fruit, and Regina kisses her back like she’s been waiting all day to do this again. Her hand finds Emma’s neck, and Emma’s hand that isn’t cradling the orange cradles Regina’s head. Emma hopes it leaves the scent of citrus in her hair, hopes it will remind Regina of her later.

It’s slow and careful and the opposite of whatever it was that happened between them last night. Emma takes her time, and Regina lets her, and maybe if Emma kisses her softly enough, Regina will understand—

“I didn’t say it back,” Emma says when she pulls away, because she can’t stop thinking about last night, about what Regina said to her, and Regina bites her lip to stifle her smile.

“I know.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No, I was hoping for another heartbreak,” Regina says dryly. It’s a deflection, sarcasm, but Emma moves forward and kisses her again—because she has. She has broken Regina’s heart a number of times in the past; maybe not directly, but either way, she’d like to never do it again. “What I want is for you to have a drink with me,” she says against Emma’s lips.

“Like a date?” Emma asks, because she is _clumsy_ , and she can’t stop herself.

“Like a date,” Regina confirms softly.

Emma laughs then, feels adoration wash over her like a gentle current.

“If you’re trying to be polite…” Emma says, placing her hand over Regina’s where it rests at her neck, sliding it down to her chest and lightly encouraging Regina to squeeze, “don’t be.”

Regina inhales sharply, breathes Emma’s name, and Emma is reminded of Regina’s lips on her neck, Regina rolling her hips against Emma’s thigh—

“Have a drink with me,” Regina insists, her voice rough around the edges; dark and tempting.

She doesn’t know why it’s so important to Regina that they get the beginning of this right. After last night, Emma thinks they’ve already done everything entirely backwards. But then she thinks of her previous dating experience, with pirate boyfriends and easy traps and blatant disregard for her own feelings. And Regina had witnessed all of it, had seen the sort of treatment that Emma believed to be love.

“Okay.”

Emma gently releases her hold on Regina’s hand, and Regina lets it fall to Emma’s side instead, delicately curling her fingers around Emma’s rib cage. It’s a loving, innocent gesture that pushes tears to Emma’s eyes, and they blur her vision until she blinks them away.

Regina presses her lips to Emma’s then, softly and with promise, and when they part, she smiles at Emma, her own eyes shining. Like it hurts Regina that Emma’s been hurt.

Regina moves to stand, gracefully hopping off the hood of Emma’s car and stacking her orange peels in her hand before she turns to walk away. Down the sidewalk, down the street. Until Emma can no longer see her beyond the dim glow of the streetlights.

The following night, they have a drink. Several drinks, maybe, because Regina is leaning against Emma as they teeter down the sidewalk from the bar. Emma doesn’t know what’s going to happen when they get to Regina’s house. All she knows is that she’d offered to walk Regina home after their last cocktail, and Regina is letting her. Regina is bumping into her with her shoulder. Regina is…talking about Star Wars, and Emma wasn’t paying attention. She has no idea how that happened.

“You’ll have to come over and watch them with us sometime,” Regina says. “Henry would love that.”

Emma’s heart swells at the suggestion, having a movie marathon of a franchise she’s never really cared much about but one that apparently means a lot to both Henry and Regina; her little family. It’s so _endearing_ , and Emma wants to tell Regina to stop, that she is already so deeply in love and to please have mercy on her.

“That…actually sounds perfect,” she says instead, and Regina smiles, so free and so beautiful under the light of the moon that Emma nearly forgets how to breathe.

So she focuses on that, on just breathing, until they make it to Mifflin Street. She starts to feel awkward on the way up to Regina’s front door, feebly trailing behind her, unsure if she’s meant to linger or make herself scarce. Maybe if she weren’t so drunk, it would be easier. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

It’s when Regina turns to face her as they’re standing on the porch that all the air rushes from her lungs, and she forgets again. Forgets how to do anything that isn’t looking at Regina. She can hear the racing of her own pulse in her ears, but maybe that’s the alcohol. And she’ll attribute the warmth she feels growing in her cheeks to her drunken state as well. Because she’s still not used to Regina having this effect on her so openly. She’s not used to not having to hide it anymore.

“Thank you,” Regina says softly, breaking through the silence between them, cutting through the distant sound of chirping insects and the occasional passing car. “For tonight.”

“Thank you,” Emma echoes, “for…everything.”

She doesn’t know why she can’t just take it, why she can’t just let Regina be grateful for her, but it probably has something to do with the fact that Emma admires her so much for everything she’s done—for her, for Henry, for her parents, for this town. Mostly, she admires Regina for what she’s done for herself and who she’s allowed herself to become. Lifetimes of pain and misfortune stacked inside of Regina, but here she stands, strong and whole and in love.

Emma’s in a perpetual state of appreciation for Regina, and she never wants her to forget. She thinks that’s why she’s swaying forward into Regina, wrapping her arms around Regina’s waist and clumsily drawing her into a hug. It’s not something they do, which is made obvious by Regina’s hesitation as she slowly encircles her arms around Emma, but it’s something Emma wishes they would do _more_. Something that doesn’t just spring from being drunk and overly sentimental.

Maybe it would be a small step in the right direction if Emma could control herself, but Regina is so warm, and she smells _so good_ , and her neck is right there, right at Emma’s lips, and Emma is _drunk_ in more ways than one. She wants—she _wants_ , and her lips press delicately to Regina’s neck, then less delicately when Regina sighs shakily and threads her fingers through Emma’s hair.

She pulls back to look at Regina, eyes falling to her lips, and Regina kisses her, softly, suddenly, and backs her against the front door with a quiet thud. The heel of Emma’s boot knocks against the bottom of the door as she battles with her own balance, gripping Regina’s waist tighter to steady herself.

Emma feels the door give way beneath her, and Regina catches her before she can stumble backward into Zelena, who looks…disgusted. But, like, she’s the one who opened the door and interrupted them, so Emma has far more of a right to be annoyed than _she_ does.

“I thought I heard voices,” Zelena says, wrinkling her nose. “Should’ve known. Henry said it was probably nothing, but what kind of aunt would I be if I didn’t make sure?”

“Do you ever mind your own business?” Regina snaps, and Emma is just…staring blankly, reeling from the fact that she can still smell Regina’s perfume.

It’s the second time this has happened, the second time their…whatever this is has been intruded upon, and it irritates Emma so extremely that it makes her nauseous, how they may never have what they want, just the two of them. Everyone needs them too much. Everyone is _everywhere_ , all the time—

“Me?” Zelena demands. “You’re the one out here pawing at the Savior for the whole world to see. You know, for a queen, you really haven’t got much class.”

The edges of Emma’s vision suddenly turn blurry. Her stomach churns, and she feels a thickness pushing at her throat, feels woozy, dizzy, and Zelena’s use of the “S” word is certainly the thing that pushes her over the edge. Literally. She’s sick all at once with no warning, down on her hands and knees, vomiting over the edge of Regina’s porch. Right into her hedges. Great.

She feels a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles through her leather jacket, and she can’t hear much beyond the _whooshing_ in her ears, but she still hears voices snarking at each other.

“Stop it,” Emma pleads, but her voice is so faint, so strained, and she’s getting sick again as their bickering continues.

She doesn’t remember entering Regina’s house, doesn’t know how she gets from the porch to a bedroom, but she vaguely registers being wrapped in purple magic. There’s a warm bed and pajamas, and she passes out with her head on a soft pillow.

Waking up is…bad. Her skull feels like it’s splitting, her stomach feels like it’s made of rubber, and her mouth feels like it’s full of sand, and it’s _bad_. Until she realizes that she’s in Regina’s room, Regina’s bed, and Regina is lying next to her; already awake and playing a game on her phone that looks suspiciously like Candy Crush. Then it’s less bad, because Regina has apparently been up for a while, and she’s already dressed, already so well-put together and always so beautiful. And Emma— _god_ , Emma remains tucked in the fetal position beneath the covers, hair probably wild, makeup probably nonexistent after no doubt being rubbed off by Regina’s pillow.

“Hey,” she croaks, and when she moves to turn over, her ribs ache from retching. Because she threw up on Regina’s porch last night. Right after she kissed her. _Great_.

“Hi,” Regina says with a small grin, and she sounds endlessly amused. Like Emma’s embarrassment brings her such joy. That’s fine. Emma probably deserves it.

Regina presses the lock button on her phone and places it on her bedside table. Emma follows her movement, notices a glass of water and two ibuprofens waiting patiently for her.

“Are those for me?” she asks (begs), desperate for anything that will potentially help her function.

“They might be.”

Regina scoops them up into her hand, offering them to Emma along with the glass of water. Emma sits up and takes it gratefully.

“How are you not hungover?” she asks once she’s swallowed down her salvation.

“Oh, I am,” Regina tells her casually, and god, Emma envies her composure. “I’ve been up since seven. I made Henry breakfast and made sure he got to school.”

“And then you just…got back into bed with me?”

“Well,” Regina tells her with a wry smile, “someone had to make sure you didn’t die.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Emma feels a flush spread from her neck to her cheeks, embarrassed that Regina had to basically babysit her when she is almost certain that Regina had other plans for last night. Plans that still might have included Emma waking up in her bed, but probably not…like this. “Sorry. I told you I’m not good at this.”

“You don’t have to be,” Regina says, reaches a hand out to push tangled hair behind Emma’s ear, lingering at her neck.

It makes Emma’s breath catch—always when Regina touches her, always—and she covers Regina’s hand with her own, keeping her there. It is a perfect morning, a perfect day because she spent the night with Regina, and she could say anything. She could thank Regina for understanding her, could tell her that she is in love. Emma could kiss her, wants so badly to kiss her, and Regina is already moving closer, but _god,_ she _can’t_ —

“Regina, I smell like liquor and vomit.”

Regina hums like she’s thinking and moves back just a bit. Emma sighs and drops her hand.

“You’re welcome to use my shower,” Regina tells her, already pushing the covers off and sliding out of bed. “I’ll find you something to wear.”

Emma thinks of telling her to wait, to come back, and it’s _such_ bullshit; that she’s gotten to wake up next to Regina, but her brain is too fried to appreciate it in the right ways. She runs an irritated hand down her face and kicks Regina’s stupidly comfortable duvet off of herself.

It takes Emma until the next day to get over her embarrassment, to figure out what she wants to do, and they haven’t spoken beyond text messages since she left Regina’s house yesterday afternoon. She doesn’t know why this is so hard. Something Emma’s known for _years_ , and suddenly she’s hopeless just because Regina has actually bothered to say it out loud. It’s easier to pretend when the unspoken remains as such.

It’s not like it’s _completely_ Emma’s fault. Regina’s the one who told her she loved her on their first date—sort of—and threw them off balance to start with. Emma’s made it worse, probably, but she thinks they’re both a little out of practice when it comes to choosing love; something that pushy pirates and soulmate sentences have never afforded them, and it’s been so long since they’ve had free reign over their own fate.

Emma’s waiting outside of Town Hall for Regina to get off work, lingering by Regina’s Mercedes, and when Regina finally opens the door, when Emma sees her, Emma knows she’s wrong. They’ve never had free reign, never had any control over this. Because she would have fallen in love with Regina every time in whatever story they were a part of.

Regina looks surprised to see her as she approaches her car, and Emma is staring, staring, thinking, and when Regina just raises an expectant eyebrow, Emma clears her throat.

“Um,” she says, “hey.”

Regina has mercy on her, humors her, and thank god, because Emma’s clumsy and that’s just something she’s going to have to accept.

“Hey.” There is amusement in Regina’s dark, dark eyes as she watches Emma. “What are you doing? Besides stalking me.”

The vise-like grip around Emma’s heart loosens a bit as her nerves melt away, and she breathes out a laugh that feels free. Regina is effortlessly good at comforting her.

She takes a step forward, takes Regina’s hands gently.

“Come with me,” Emma says, and when Regina nods, Emma draws in a steadying breath and focuses, pushes her magic out between the two of them until they’re transported to Emma’s kitchen.

They are surrounded by candlelight and the aroma of Emma’s dinner baking in the oven, and there’s a bouquet of flowers in a vase on the table that Regina’s eyes linger on before she looks back to Emma, and it’s bad. It’s probably all very bad and wrong because she’s never really made a gesture like this before, and Regina just…giggles.

She _giggles_ , just once, a light, happy thing, and gently squeezes Emma’s hands, and it feels like the two of them dancing at a wedding or hugging on Regina’s porch. It feels like something that everyone else in the world does that they would never do, and it’s new and funny and strange, and Emma just wants to _keep having these moments with her_.

“It’s weird,” Emma says with what she hopes is an easy smile, not a question this time, but Regina shakes her head.

“It’s perfect,” she tells her.

The sincerity in her voice gives Emma enough reassurance to walk over and pour them each a glass of wine.

“You could have chosen any movie,” Regina complains fondly, half-heartedly. Like she knows this is precisely Emma’s style. Like she’s endeared by it.

They’re about halfway into _Back to the Future_ , indulging Regina’s love of science fiction. Plus, it’s one of Emma’s favorites.

“When I was younger, I used to wonder what it would be like,” Emma says, glancing over at Regina. “To go back in time and change things. To meet my parents.”

Regina’s mindlessly running her thumb along the rim of her wine glass, watching Emma with admiration as if Emma were telling her a secret. Maybe she is.

“Do you still?” Regina asks. “Wonder, I mean.”

Emma feels a smile pull at her lips as she shakes her head.

“I like what I have here. I like being here. I like helping people,” she says, then softens a bit. “I like you.”

Regina breathes out a gentle laugh, gaze dropping down to her glass of wine before returning to Emma with newfound emotion.

“I like you, too.”

Her tone is warm, warm, and Emma moves to set her glass down on the table in front of them so she can fold her legs under her and face Regina on the sofa.

“I know. You’ve mentioned that before.”

“I don’t think “like” was the word I used.”

Emma’s heart stalls, her stomach twisting as she thinks of those words falling from Regina’s lips, and she has developed a deep craving to hear Regina say them again. Again and again and again until Regina’s lungs are so tired that she has to pause for breath.

It’s a sort of drug that Emma’s become addicted to, her hopes finally turned into words. Finally turned into feeling.

“Remind me,” she says, ignores the breathless strain in her own voice, “what word that was.”

Regina holds her gaze for several moments, and Emma’s pulse quickens with each passing one. She finally breaks it to move forward and set her glass down, just as Emma had done, and Emma releases an unsteady breath, takes advantage of this small sliver in time where Regina’s eyes are not on her, studying her, loving her, wanting her.

It doesn’t last. Regina slides closer to Emma, their legs bumping, and rests a hand on Emma’s thigh. Like she needs a physical anchor because Emma has yet to give her a verbal one.

Her other hand moves to Emma’s cheek, and she’s leaning in, carefully, slowly, and she presses her lips to Emma’s just the same. Her lips are soft as Emma kisses her back, as she blindly rests a hand at Regina’s side, above her hip.

When Regina pulls away, she waits for Emma to open her eyes before she speaks.

“I love you,” Regina tells her quietly with a smile on her face, and _god_ , it’s unreal. It should be impossible for Regina to sit here and say these things. It should be impossible for Emma to hear them after she spent so long, too long, convincing herself that she never would.

She swallows hard and closes the distance between them again, needs her mouth back on Regina’s, because somehow this is more familiar than anything else they’ve done. The way they fit like this makes Emma’s chest swell, raw and unbidden.

Her mouth falls open under Regina’s, tracing her tongue over Regina’s bottom lip, and Emma’s not sure if the needy sigh comes from her or Regina, but her grip on Regina’s waist tightens all the same. She feels the hand that Regina has on her begin to move higher, nails biting her inner thigh through her jeans, and the soft gasp that fills the room definitely belongs to her this time.

There’s fire building low in her stomach, makes her want, makes her ache, and her teeth catch Regina’s lips in a moment of unrestrained desire, tugging as her hand slides under Regina’s shirt to find warm, soft skin.

Regina growls— _growls_ , and if Emma wasn’t already sitting down, the sound would make her weak in the knees—as she throws a leg over Emma’s lap in one, fluid motion, straddles her, and—

Emma breaks the kiss, feels Regina’s hot, heavy breath against her face and stares up at her. She reaches to push Regina’s hair behind her ear, and Regina takes her hand and just _holds it_.

“I would hate to ruin movie night,” Regina says, and it’s only a half-joke, her eyes baring some sort of truth. Appreciation for what Emma has put together.

“Ruin it,” Emma begs quietly; a challenge.

Regina’s smile is sly as she indulges Emma’s wish, making quick work of her own shirt and tossing it somewhere behind them, beside them, Emma doesn’t know, doesn’t _care_. Her throat goes dry as she takes in the sight of Regina: the lace of her bra hugging the swell of her breasts; her deep, dark eyes as she watches Emma; uneven breath falling from her parted, lipstick-smudged lips.

Regina leans in and kisses her, crashes their lips together desperately, and Emma’s hands fall to her ass, gripping and urging her forward, closer. It pulls a light moan from the back of Regina’s throat, and Emma’s lungs are _burning_ , desire coiling tightly around her lower abdomen. She feels Regina’s hands leave her, feels them disappear as Regina breaks away just enough to unhook her own bra, and Emma just…stares. Swallows hard around the lump in her throat.

She slowly takes one of Emma’s hands and moves it up to her chest. The sigh that Regina emits is _beautiful_ , and Emma wants _more_. Emma palms her breast as Regina tilts her head back, thumbs over a nipple, and Regina situates herself over Emma’s thigh, rolling her hips as Emma lowers her head and closes her mouth around her other nipple.

There is the whisper of magic in the air as Regina suddenly magics her skirt away—because apparently, she can’t be bothered to part from Emma, and Emma’s lips turn up in amusement against Regina’s breast before she lightly scrapes her teeth over Regina’s nipple.

Emma drops her hands, running them over Regina’s thighs, over newly exposed skin, and she brings a hand between Regina’s legs, fingers stroking along her inner thigh, grazing over her panties, and the moan that spills from Regina’s lips makes Emma’s heart race, faster, too fast. She traces her fingers over the waistband of Regina’s panties, barely dipping beneath it.

She brings her head up from Regina’s chest, drops a kiss to her sternum before she meets Regina’s gaze.

“What?” Regina asks softly.

“Nothing.” It must show on Emma’s face, the pure affection she feels, because Regina smiles, small and slight. “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, Emma,” she counters, like this is an _argument_ , and before Emma can say anything else, Regina is leaning down, kissing her, kissing her with everything she _has_ —

Emma slides Regina’s panties down her hips, over her thighs, until Regina shimmies out of them entirely, and when the tips of her fingers brush Regina’s clit, Regina gasps into her mouth, pulls back to bring their foreheads together. Emma rubs in slow, steady circles until Regina is moaning and panting at her ear, head resting on Emma’s shoulder.

She dips a finger into Regina, then another, then retracts them a second later, makes Regina whine, and she’s _so wet_ , and Emma throbs with want, buries her face in Regina’s neck.

“Emma,” Regina pleads, and Emma would do anything, _anything_ for Regina if she always asked in that voice.

She eases two fingers into Regina, and Regina sinks down onto them with a breathy moan, hands clutching tightly to Emma’s hair as her hips begin to move, as Emma begins to match her movements with each pump of her fingers. Regina is soft and warm and it makes Emma _ache_ , makes her mouth useless words against the skin of Regina’s neck.

Emma clumsily presses the pad of her thumb to Regina’s clit, curls her fingers once, twice, three times, and Regina’s moan catches in her throat as she comes, arching her body into Emma. Her thighs tense and shake, and her hips stall, clenching around Emma’s fingers, and she’s _incredible_ , beautiful—

Emma must say as much out loud, because Regina laughs breathlessly into her hair as Emma slides her still wet fingers up over Regina’s clit, causing her to jolt and shiver and grab her wrist. She brings Emma’s hand up to her lips, takes Emma’s fingers into her mouth, and Emma _groans_.

“Regina,” she breathes.

Regina swirls her tongue, and there’s such a throbbing between her thighs that she thinks she could come just from this; still ridiculously, fully clothed, just from Regina sucking the taste of herself off Emma’s fingers.

When Regina releases her fingers, Emma traces her thumb over Regina’s bottom lip, pink and plump and soft and perfect.

“We could finish the movie,” Regina suggests impishly, “or you could let me take you to bed.”

Truthfully, Emma had forgotten that they were even watching a movie.

Emma wakes with Regina’s arm thrown around her waist, both of them bare beneath sheets, and she feels herself smiling before the day has even started. It’s infinitely better than the last time they woke up together because when she shifts, it rouses Regina, and she presses her lips to the back of Emma’s neck, to her shoulder.

“This feels familiar,” Regina mumbles sleepily, never too far-off from Emma’s own train of thought.

Emma turns over on her back to look at her, leans in to gently press her lips to Regina’s, and Regina is a vision like this, in the low morning light. She shakes her head in mild disagreement.

“No, this is new,” she tells Regina. “Better.”

Regina hums, and Emma lets her eyes close, lets herself be lulled by the weight of Regina’s arm still over her waist, fingertips tracing over her hip. They’ll have to get up soon, to pick Henry up from her parents’ place, but it feels so easy right now. Like everything she’s been afraid of has somehow dissipated in the night. She rests a hand on Regina’s forearm, already drifting back into a half-sleep when Regina speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Regina says softly. “About how this house is too big for you.”

“That’s funny. I was going to say the same about yours.”

“I’ve lived in that house since you were born,” Regina argues, and, well, Emma wrinkles her nose.

“Weird,” she comments, but Regina ignores her.

“Henry’s lived in that house since he was a baby. That’s his home.”

“That’s low,” Emma complains with a sigh and a stretch, “using our son against me.”

“It works.”

“Only a little.”

She hears Regina breathe out a soft sort of laugh through her nose, opens her eyes and meets Regina’s gaze. She looks so free, Emma thinks. So happy here, like this. But there is a certain look in her eye that tells Emma she’s being serious, and Emma’s still not quite sure what Regina’s asking. She knows what Regina is _implying_ , but experience has proven those to be two different things.

“You don’t have to be alone,” Regina tells her, and there is so much care laced into her words that Emma’s chest aches.

It’s strange how they have so much time now, time they’ve never had before. It’s strange that this is the opposite of a dire situation, the two of them lazing in bed together, but that the urge still bubbles up inside of Emma. Maybe it’s because Emma has always been alone, and Regina has always been the one to remind her that she’s not the only one who understands the feeling of loneliness. That Regina understands it, too, understands _her_ , and it’s rushing out of Emma before she can stop herself.

“I love you,” she says, and it’s dizzying how easily the words come.

More than that, the smile that spreads across Regina’s face is breathtaking, the way it reaches her eyes and nearly fills Emma’s own with tears.

“I know,” Regina says, leans in and kisses her soundly, once, twice, then moves to her cheek, her jaw. “I still want you to live with me.”

Emma’s laugh borders on an elated sob as she tangles her fingers in Regina’s hair, tilts her head to give Regina access to her neck.

“Seems like all you care about is having more mornings like this,” she says, feels Regina’s chuckle vibrate through her. Emma’s teasing dies on a quiet moan as Regina sucks lightly at her pulse point.

“Let me show you _why_ I want more mornings like this,” Regina murmurs, working her way down Emma’s body.

She lingers at Emma’s breasts, and Emma gasps, arching her back and pushing her chest up as Regina flattens her tongue over a nipple before she takes it into her mouth. She waits until Emma is writhing beneath her, until Emma’s breaths are coming out shallow, before her mouth goes lower, and lower still, nipping lightly as her lips pass over Emma’s stomach, her hip.

With Regina’s head between her thighs, Emma breathes unevenly, watches as Regina slowly dips her tongue into where Emma is already aching, licking up to her clit before she pulls her head back, and Emma _whines_.

“Regina, _god_ …”

She just presses her lips to the inside of Emma’s thigh, and Emma can feel her _smiling_ against her leg, and it’s maddening, infuriating. They woke up just moments ago, and Emma is _wet_ , wanting.

“Wouldn’t you like to wake up like this every day?” Regina asks, voice only slightly muffled by Emma’s thigh. She gets her answer in the form of a whimper as her mouth returns to Emma, tongue sliding through wet heat, and Emma curses under her breath.

Okay. Emma decides she’s putting her house up for sale by the end of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written for them in like three years it feels weird!! ok idk im @bourbonstdyke on twitter and tumblr!! <3


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